


Felices in Aeternum

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Drowning, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 20:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: Will is haunted by the past, or perhaps it's his present. Was the nightmare of falling real? Or was Hannibal plaguing him even now. He longed for both.





	Felices in Aeternum

“Will.” 

The phantom of his breath ghosted over his ear, the back of his neck. It made goosebumps rise on his skin, stinging against the sweat clinging to his back. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the sound was real or not. 

Dark eyes open to the rest of the bedroom, he waited, holding his breath. 

Perhaps it was a dream, all of it. A twisted, bloody, beautiful dream he’d only now woken up from. A sharp pang resounded in his heart, sinking into the pit of ice that was his stomach. It must have been real. He could still taste Dolarhyde’s blood-

_ ”It really does look black in the moonlight” _

-and feel Hannibal’s warmth against him. His heavy heartbeat in his ear, hands capable of so much carnal violence and strength always handling him with such tenderness. Even driving that blade deep into his belly what felt like a lifetime ago, it was still gentle. And driving a bonesaw into his skull… Their relationship was so...fucked. It was fucked. 

Perhaps that’s why he took them over the cliff. 

The wind brushed so gently against him, the spray of the sea rising to meet him before the hard slap of the water engulfed him. The dark, icy water froze his muscles and stung his wounds, tossing him like a doll about the waves and the current. He slammed against rock, any breath he was holding vanishing from his lungs in that moment, filling his mouth with water his body forced him to swallow. Forced him to inhale. 

Death had been shadowing him since Hannibal walked into his life. The moment his teeth sank into that first piece of meat he served him it had clung to him like another skin, stalking him and reminding him how close he would always be, how the good doctor would mean his utter demise. 

Will had always foreseen his death as a passionate thing, surrounded by fire and soft silver blades, blood pouring from him into a chalice just for Hannibal. His death, he assumed, would always be Hannibal’s design, his will and to his particular tastes. 

Which is why this felt so wrong. This dark, isolated thing he’d found himself in, thrashing, painful and ugly. Perhaps that’s why those strong arms plucked him from the sea. Hannibal could never allow Will to perish so hideously. 

But he was ready to surrender to it, to death, as he’d never been able to with Hannibal. Even when it was all he ever wanted.

Preposterous notions from an impossible scenario that could easily have been the nightmare he’d just woken from. Nothing but a dream. 

Fingers slid delicately through his curls, making his scalp prickle. “Will?” 

Perhaps he was a ghost. Another imagined creature he longed to be with conjured by a battered mind and a heart desperate for love. He yearned for Hannibal, there was no mistaking it. For years he wanted him, chased him, fell into each meticulously laid trap like the lamb for slaughter he was. He traveled across half the world just to get a glimpse of him. And maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe he needed to think he could feel him. Maybe his twisted, starved heart needed to imagine him as he’d imagined Abigail. 

Or… 

“Am I getting the silent treatment, or did you forget where we are again, my dear?” Hannibal’s voice sounded amused, and the bed behind him shifted. “Because if it happens to be the former I’d like to remind you of who threw the fit about hauling the firewood tonight and who didn’t.” 

Will blinked, then breathed. Then he smiled. Tonight, the firewood, yes. Their cabin was old, the heater older, needing firewood to warm the place and after chopping it all afternoon he’d interrupted Hannibal’s preparations for dinner to demand he help bring it up to the house, ruining the ‘pork’s’ marinade. 

He turned over slowly, seeing the glint of his eyes in the gentle dark of the bedroom. “I forgot,” he said. “...Again.” 

“I could tell you it’s a coping mechanism, but I thought we were enjoying ourselves here.” Hannibal gently caressed his cheek, cupping his neck, toying with his curls. He found himself chasing the touches and closing his eyes. 

“It’s just strange, being so…” He tried to find the tactful way to put it, and Hannibal waited, looking amused already. “Adjusted.” 

He chuckled, bringing Will closer to him. “Would you prefer the excitement you went through before we were here? Perhaps when can do some more cliff diving?” 

Hannibal had hauled him onto the beach, slamming his hands onto his chest until he coughed up the water that threatened to end him. He gagged and gasped, fingers clenching in the rough sand primarily composed of rock, the clear sky above swirling in his broken vision. The stars pulsed, the moon spun slowly beyond the fog of the sea, which continued to roll and soak the back of his legs up to his neck. 

“That,” he said beside him, catching his breath. “Was a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

He could only cough, his curls dripping water into his eyes. “I thought...you liked...dramatic…” 

“Even this was a bit much for me. Did you want to kill us?” 

The sky was beginning to still again. “...I don’t know. You let me take you with me. If you didn’t want to die…” 

“Caught in your arms, plummeting to our deaths in a black, thrashing sea after slaying the dragon together? Such a thing is far more worthy a tragedy than Shakespeare himself could have conjured. Though perhaps the irony and imagery would be more to the bard’s tune than anyone else’s. 

“It would have been wildly romantic to cross our very own river Styx, hand-in-hand, Will. If that’s what you wanted for you, dare I say for us, why would I ever stop you?” He spoke with more sincerity and far less pomp than he was used to, and Will’s head lolled over to look at him, brows drawn. 

“Since when do you let anyone determine your fate, Hannibal?” His voice was as coarse as the sand beneath them, and he cursed how beautiful his counterpart managed to look after the harrowing ordeal. Tired and battered, but the ocean had merely tousled him whereas it had beaten Will. 

It took a moment for him to  answer. “Since I fell so deeply in love.” 

In another cliche that had become his time with Hannibal, his heart skipped a beat. He didn’t react beyond his expression clearing, and once again he looked toward the stars. Slowly, he reached out and closed his hand around Hannibal’s, feeling something warm and satisfying in his chest when he felt the warmth of Hannibal’s palm turn and lace their fingers together.

That was a lifetime ago, it seemed. 

“No,” he chuckled. “No, I’ve had enough excitement. Coughing up that ear was enough for me, but you kept going.” 

“Shall we call it a quirk?” 

He leaned closer, pressing a warm, albeit sweaty, kiss to his soft lips. Hannibal’s breath caught, as it usually did when they kissed. He wondered if that was normal, but he’d no one to ask but Alana, and that might be an inappropriate topic of conversation. He liked to think only he could make Hannibal, usually the pinnacle of composure no matter what he endured -always so ruggedly handsome, the bastard- speechless. 

“We’ll call it what it is; insanity. But we’ve already determined I’m crazy. When it comes to you, anyway,” he whispered, speaking against his lips. 

Hannibal growled, rolling on top of him and kissing him again with a deep, strong hunger. He stole the air from his lungs, slipping his tongue past his mouth. The heavy, primal sound of him sent a thrill down his spine, his hands gliding along the warm skin of his back. 

“What was your nightmare about, Will?” He whispered, teeth scraping against his stubbled jaw, eliciting a moan from him. “What had you muttering so? You were thrashing, sweating. You seemed so desperate to reach something, or to get away from it. I swear I could hear your heart hammering in your teeth.” 

Those strong arms pinned Will’s hands above his head, a smirk stretching over his mouth seeing Will’s pupils dilate. “I must admit, it was almost arousing to see you like that. Mewling, vulnerable, soaking through your shirt. I fought myself not to take advantage, you know. And then you went so still when I spoke your name. Was I the monster you were running from?” 

“No,” Will finally managed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his body aching and hungry for Hannibal to devour him as completely as he always did. He pried a hand away to cup his face, watching the catlike way he moved over him with another rush of excitement. “I dreamt you stopped chasing me.” 

He lunged forward, kissing him so hard he drew blood, which he quickly lapped up, another growl drawing a whimper from Will. “I would never abandon a hunt so promising,” he swore, biting bruises into the column of his throat. Will’s fingers tangled in his hair and pulled at the pleasurable sensations, lashes fluttering. 

“Prove it,” he challenged, smirking. 

Hannibal laughed, a low, dark sound that vibrated his bones. “Anything for you.” 

Surrender had never been so satisfying. 


End file.
